


Akṣadyū

by avani



Category: Mahabharata - Vyasa
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Misses Clause Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21739201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avani/pseuds/avani
Summary: “Do you play chausar, Princess?”In Kalinga, dice is saved for the assembly halls and men’s amusement. No woman of dignity would admit to it in public. “Certainly not.”“Then I suggest you learn,” Vasusena Karna says before he leaves her.
Relationships: Bhanumati & Dushala (Mahabharata), Bhanumati & Gandhari (Mahabharata), Bhanumati & Karna (Mahabharata), Bhanumati/Duryodhana (Mahabharata)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 31
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Akṣadyū

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toujours_nigel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toujours_nigel/gifts).



Bhanumati’s arrival into the palace of Hastinapur cannot be called auspicious. No astrologers have consulted their codices to determine the configuration of the stars and planets; no bards precede her, bragging of their princess’s beauty and bounty. Instead her veil is torn, her hair bedraggled, and her hem dank and dusty. She has never been seen less to advantage in her life. 

What’s worse, she discovers an audience waiting. A small army of graybeards is clustered by the inner gate, glowering to a man. This, then, is Hastinapur: looking at the unsmiling faces before her, Bhanumati puts all dreams of dancing and celebration aside. The Crown Prince Duryodhana--she refuses to think of him as her husband, not when he’s earned it by such deceitful means--mutters a vile curse under his breath and brings the chariot to a stop an instant before it might trample his elders. 

“See to her, my friend,” he calls over his shoulder even as he tosses the reins aside and advances towards those who await him; which leaves Vasusena Karna to hand Bhanumati down from the chariot and lead her towards the women’s quarters. What is one more indignity compared to so many others? Still, Bhanumati takes spiteful joy in imagining she treads upon the swollen head of the Kaurava prince rather than the insects in her path. Her mother would be appalled at her behavior, but she has nothing to fear, not when the gods cannot possibly punish her further than they already have. 

Karna is a silent man, she has already learned over the hours they’ve spent together. He says nothing all the long way, except when he bows before depositing her into the care of a cadre of maidservants. “Do you play _chausar_ , Princess?”

In Kalinga, dice is saved for the assembly halls and men’s amusement. No woman of dignity would admit to it in public. Bhanumati does her best to pretend a thousand giggling games with her girl-cousins haven’t taken place when safely out of sight. “Certainly not.”

“Then I suggest you learn,” he says before he leaves her behind.

*

If Bhanumati’s marriage had proceeded as planned, her mother would have started preparations as soon as she announced her choice. Spies would be sent, discreetly, to the homeland of her new husband; the names and natures of her new female in-laws would be committed to memory and reported back. Attendants would be chosen to best suit the needs of the court, and among them, at least one with charm and cunning enough to identify rivals and offset their actions. The women’s quarters of any palace could be a dangerous place, after all; no loving mother would send a daughter into one unarmed.

But just so does Bhanumati find herself. She can only hide in the bath so long; the maidservants, carefully anonymous, tug at her hair until all its tangles are gone and rub her skin with perfumes. She does not let them take her jewels, little though they might match the new clothes she has been given. Bhanumati is all too conscious that she wears the only wealth she has left in the world. She knows very well what happened to the last foreign princess kidnapped from her _swayamvara_ and rejected by Hastinapur’s royal family; she has no wish to be a second Amba of Kashi, wailing to the world of the injustice done her. 

In the end, all the care she takes with her appearance makes little different. Bhanumati had heard rumors, of course, but assumed they could not possibly be true: what Queen, however devoted, would sacrifice her own sight merely to make a point? But Gandhari did, and has, and now sits before her, utterly unimpressed. 

“Welcome, daughter,” she says, voice stiff, and fumbles for Bhanumati’s head in blessing; then, all too soon, she has retreated into her private temple to worship Lord Shiva further. Bhanumati sits back on her heels, caught between relief and regret. She does not wish to belong here, not in the slightest, but no more does she want to be slighted. She is only angry, and lost.

“Come, Princess,” say one of the maidservants--are they to be hers now?--lifting her to her feet. “Your bridal chamber awaits.”

*

The new few days are filled with a dizzying list of names, mostly those of Prince Duryodhana’s bewildering multitude of brothers. Bhanumati is never entirely sure if she addresses Ugrasravas, Ugrasena, Ugrayudha, or merely Ugra, and half-convinced there are two Karnas among the hundred Kauravas sons without adding Vasusena into the muddle. She can only be glad that none of them, in deference to their brother, is already wed. She knows, though, that ninety-nine and more sisters-in-law, whenever they arrive, will not be equally forgiving of her inability to distinguish between them. Not to mention the children! 

Queen Gandhari remains remote as ever. She declines any offer of assistance, leaving Bhanumati able to only sit beside her as she prays. She seems--just as unhappy as Bhanumati herself, and Bhanumati cannot reach her. In her desperation, and remembering Vasusena Karna’s words, Bhanumati begins to offer one day, “ Will you play...” before remembering to her horror that blindness generally limits one’s ability to play _chausar._ “...An instrument? Any instrument?”

Gandhari purses her lips. Bhanumati curls her fingers into fists and forbids herself to weep. 

That night, after Duryodhana has finished feasting with his friend, she waylays Vasusena Karna on his way from Duryodhana’s chambers. A hitherto unknown advantage of marriage: no one thinks to protest at her unladylike behavior as they might have, back home in Kalinga.

“You asked,” she says, without preamble, “about my skills at _chausar_. I begin to believe you meant my skills at more than a game.”

Karna’s lips twitch. “Yes,” he says, “and no. It is tremendously popular among the Kurus, you’ll find. But you have better sources of advice than myself.”

“What, than a _suta’_ s son?” she asks without thinking. Karna bristles, but when he speaks again, his voice is flat.

“I referred to your noble husband, Princess.” A jibe for a jibe; Bhanumati wraps her arms about herself for comfort until Karna relents. “The principles of dice are simple: any man--or any woman--need remember only three.”

Three; that does not seem so bad. Bhanumati allows herself to hope. “I would be most grateful if you would enlighten me, King of Anga.” Flattery, she judges, never hurt anyone’s cause. 

And not in this case. “First to remember is to make you sure you play with the right set of dice. Choose the wrong set, and you’ll never recover. Always give yourself any advantage you can--and if none seems apparently, then acquire one by any means necessary.”

Bhanumati nods, and when no further information seems forthcoming, frowns. “Then? What next?”

Again, Karna’s lips twitch with amusement. “A worthwhile teacher knows not to deliver a second lesson before the first has been learned. I would not do you the disservice of negligent instruction, Princess, nor would you wish it of me.”

She cannot offer no defense. Bhanumati slumps. “Very well,” she says, and steps aside. Think what he will, she will prove herself no indifferent pupil. She will puzzle out what he means, and prove her own worth. He might not understand what it is to be ashamed of one’s own ignorance, and have no way to rectify it, but she does. That is the lot of womankind. 

He bows once more, and disappears down the corridor. 

*

 _The wrong set of dice,_ Bhanumati thinks to herself--then what is the right set? She turns instead to what she knows from hearsay of Hastinapur: a hundred sons born by miraculous means, and a sole daughter. Raised in _ghee_ -pots until they were full grown, and...Oh. What a fool she is. 

A messenger rides out to Sindhu the very next day, bearing a letter full of false cheer and a sincere invitation for her new sister-in-law to visit.

 _After all,_ Bhanumati writes, _we ought not to be strangers to each other, we have so much in common. What’s more, your honored mother would surely be beside herself with joy to enjoy your company once more._

Dushala, blessed before the gods, replies at once--not by way of word, but in her arrival, complete with retinue, not a fortnight later. Most providential timing, she chatters, embracing Bhanumati as though they were childhood companions long-lost to each other, considering that Dushala is so very recently with child herself, and though her noble husband will be pleased to let her return to her maternal home for the delivery itself, he understands oh-so-well that a girl has need of female companionship at such a time. She is eternally grateful to Bhanumati for giving her an excuse to come, especially since--

She breaks off here, breathless, and shrieks a greeting at Prince Duryodhana, who does not seem displeased in the least. Instead he shouts back every bit as gladly, and swings his sister off her feet and in a circle. After a series of mock-solemn questions that she is well, and he need not challenge her husband to a duel due to mistreating her, Duryodhana lets her down and does not even pretend to be wounded when she swats her hand at his shoulder.

“He’s a darling,” Dushala confides once Duryodhana is gone at last. “Never tell me he’s been a brute to you--if he has, it’s only because he hasn’t any notion how to behave. We do try to teach him, my mother and I, but he never _listens._ ”

She is interrupted, yet again, by more of her brothers come to meet her. Bhanumati sits to the side and awkwardly accepts their greetings, all too aware she can’t tell them apart.

“Oh, neither can I,” admits Dushala, much later, when Bhanumati shares this fact. “Truthfully I’m grateful I can call them all ‘brother’ and be done with it. There are advantages to being the youngest, after all. It oughtn’t to be different for you. Only address them as ‘brother-in-law’ and they’ll be flattered you can pick them apart from the servants.”

To Bhanumati, this seems heartless, but perhaps it is the only way of living possible with so many royals running underfoot. _The wrong dice_ , she remembers; perhaps it’s only that she uses the wrong methods to measure what she has and what she can do and what is expected of her. Perhaps it is as simple as that.

*

She knows she’s correct when Karna, in passing, mentions: “The second principle to remember while playing _chausar_ is that what one is willing to give is only as important as what one is willing to gain.”

 _Everything_ , Bhanumati decides. The answer must be everything.

*

“Dear mother,” Bhanumati says into a silence that remains as awkward as ever. “Might I perform a service for you?”

Dushala, half-dozing on a cushion, wakes wide-eyed to shake her head in warning. Too late, however; Gandhari has heard and drawn herself up, stern face held very still. “I require nothing of you, daughter of Kalinga.” She does not add the commonplace _Should I, though, I shall make it known_ _;_ such is not the way of Subala’s surviving children. 

“I know you do not need it,” Bhanumati continues regardless. “That is not why I asked. I only wondered, shall I take dictation for you?”

Gandhari’s blindfold prevents any from seeing if she blinks, but Bhanumati has no doubt that she has done so. “A dictation?”

“A letter, really. To the Dowager Queen of Indraprastha. I am told that you and she were intimates for years, and it must be difficult to be separated so.”

The Queen is quiet for a long moment before she speaks at last. “It is, and we were. I thank you, daughter of Kalinga. That would be most kind.”

Kind it might be, but it is also easy; almost too easy to deserve the goodwill it earns Bhanumati. A single act is not enough to win her Gandhari’s love, but it is enough to forge a faltering trust. That much is better than nothing, Bhanumati decides; that much she can build a life upon, here in this land of no-longer-strangers.

*

She forgets for some time to ask for the third principle, but Karna does not. During a _veena_ concert held in Duryodhana’s chambers--supposedly at the Crown Prince’s request, although he falls asleep three _raags_ in, while Bhanumati listens on, enraptured--Karna leans forward to whisper to her: “The most important principle of all, though, is simply this: luck, and nothing more.”

*

Bhanumati does not mean to love her husband; did not, even when she thought he would be someone of her own choice. Good sense, self-respect, and some semblance of affection for her would have been enough--instead, she has...She knows not what to make of him.

For every complaint about his cousins, there is his honest love for his family and his friend. For every outburst of temper, there is a night spent in training himself to excel further in the defense of his city and people. For every blunt, ill-considered word to her, there is a blundering effort to apologize and never repeat his offending action. 

At last one night she says, very firmly: “You must understand I will never forgive you for abducting me against my will.”

He does not flinch, or defend himself, or turn a deaf ear to her words; that is one more thing she likes about him. “Yes,” he agrees. 

“I expect you to spend the rest of your life atoning by way of service to me.”

“Yes,” she hears, once more. Her heart soars.

“Well?” she demands of her husband, after a pause in which to make it quite clear what her intentions might be. “When shall you begin?”

*

“It seems,” she tells Karna later, “that you were not mistaken. Hastinapur is indeed very fond of _chausar._ ”

The board is set up before her; she has arranged the pieces to her liking. Karna chuckles outright this time.

“And so are you,” he points out. “Or else you would not have claimed the white pieces so readily.”

“A lady takes precedence--”

“A teacher has precedence over all--”

He has her there. Already Bhanumati begins to realize she has much to learn, if she wishes to trade pleasant barbs with Karna, and indeed she does. Karna is almost as dear to her as he is to her husband, if not as well-known, and her first ally in a foreign land; she will not forget that easily. 

“Only cowards deliberate before an undertaking,” she retorts, trading haughtiness for wit. “And so I will deliberate no longer. Tell me now, King of Anga, what are your stakes?”

“Whatever you desire, Princess,” he offers, generous to a fault, as ever.

“Your advice--”daring greatly, Bhanumati adds, “and your friendship.”

“Then I ask the same of you.” Karna grins. “I admit I would settle for those pearls you wear.” 

“Very well.” She holds out her hand in challenge, in invitation. “So be it.”

**Author's Note:**

> *akṣadyū- (Sanskrit) a dice-player.  
> * This likely features dodgy mechanics of the ancient Indian game of dice, but hey, no one else is sure how it was actually played either.  
> * That reference to pearls and a final dice game between Karna and Bhanumati at the end is indeed meant to set up *that* story.  
> * Happy holidays/Yuletide!


End file.
